


The Wolf of Wentworth Hall

by Somniare



Category: Lewis (TV), Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: Case Fic, Crossover, Gen, Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon, Werewolves, a bit crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2478905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somniare/pseuds/Somniare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had to stop her and if that meant...  He steeled himself to do whatever he had to do to silence her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to paperscribe for beta and barcardivodka for Brit (Oxford)-pick. As usual, I've played with it since so all errors are mine.
> 
> Apologies for the liberties taken with regard to the running and structure of Permanent Private Halls.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except my typos, plot gaps, and grammar gaffes.

 

* * *

 

 

Getting past the Porter had always been easy.  He’d learnt at a young age how to blend, to be almost invisible, hidden in plain sight.  He was up the stairs and in the room in a moment.  It was always empty at this time of day.  He had about thirty minutes before she returned.  He had to find the papers.  He didn’t _want_ to hurt her, but he had to stop her and if that meant...  He steeled himself to do whatever he had to do to silence her.  
  
***  
 ~~~~  
Velma Dinkley looked down at the immaculate lawns of Wentworth Hall then up and over the roof where the tips of many spires could be seen.  "Jinkies! I still can't quite believe I'm here in Oxford!"  She spun around and beamed at her friend, Chloe Black.  "I was so happy when Mom told me you'd been accepted to do your PhD here, and... well, a little jealous, too."  
  
"I wish you'd applied with me, Velma.  Everyone here's been swell, but it's not quite the same as home.  And this is Oxford; it's a DPhil."  Chloe smiled kindly as she poured the tea she'd been making and then brought the tray to the small window table.  
  
"I would have liked to, Chloe."  Velma sighed.  "But, well... the gang needed me, and... you know how it goes."  
  
Chloe laughed lightly.  "I think I do.  And if it hadn't been for the gang you might not be here now."  
  
"Probably not."  Velma and the gang – Fred, Daphne, Shaggy, and Scooby Doo – were in England courtesy of the generosity of a man whose business they’d saved, and had come to Oxford specifically to visit Chloe.  Velma raised her cup and clinked it against Chloe's.  "To friends, mysteries, and unexpected rewards."  
  
"How long do you think the others will be?" Chloe asked.  After Chloe had taken them on a short walking tour, Shaggy and Scooby had volunteered to get some food for everyone to share, and Fred and Daphne had gone along with them to ensure some food made it back to Chloe's room.  They'd parted company on the Broad after Chloe had given them the relatively simple directions back to Wentworth Hall.  
  
As Velma said, "I guess they shouldn't be much longer," Chloe's phone rang.  Chloe rolled her eyes at whatever she was hearing, and she ended the call with an amused smile.  
  
"They're back, but the Porter won't let Scooby in – no dogs allowed in the hall.  C’mon, I know a nice place by the river where we can sit and eat; it's not too far.”  
  
Velma stepped out of the door into the fading daylight.  The full moon had already started its ascent.  She saw the rest of the gang waiting at the Porter’s lodge.  Fred waved to Chloe, who returned the greeting, and Velma held back an eyeroll when Daphne glared at Fred.  Shaggy and Scooby stood a step behind Daphne.  Velma giggled to herself when Scooby deftly removed something from one of the plastic bags in Shaggy’s hands and quickly swallowed it, licking his lips in satisfaction.  
  
Chloe and Velma crossed the quad, dutifully keeping to the path, aware of the watchful eye of the Porter.  As they reached the centre, where the diagonal paths crossed, a dark shape appeared in the shadowed corner of the quad and rushed at them, roughly knocking over both girls.  Just before she hit the ground, Velma saw whoever – or whatever – it was disappear into another doorway.  
  
“Hey! Stop!”  Velma heard Fred cry out, then running steps.  
  
“Oi!  Off the grass!” the Porter bellowed.  
  
Getting herself in to a sitting position, Velma saw Fred charge through the same doorway as the figure, closely followed by the Porter.  
  
Velma reached for Chloe as both young women shakily got to their feet.   
  
“Do you smell that?”  Chloe wrinkled her nose.  
  
Velma sniffed.  It was unmistakably wet dog, but _old_ , wet dog, she thought.  She was about to say so when she looked at Chloe.  
  
“You’ve been hurt!”  Running down Chloe’s arm were three deep scratches.  
  
All heads turned as one as angry wailing echoed across the quad.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Lewis left his car and walked over to meet Hathaway.  “Wentworth Hall, eh?  D’you know, in all my years in Oxford, I’ve never heard of this college.  It’s like it’s popped up out of someone’s imagination.”  
  
“Wentworth Hall is a Permanent Private Hall, founded in 1859 by the Methodist Minister Walter Wentworth Willoughby.  It attained PPH status in 1913, and only admits History and Theology post-graduate students.  Unlike other halls, this one has always had a Porter.”  James finished with a small, not-quite-but-almost-smug smile.  
  
“Right.”  Lewis’s eyebrow arched.  He wasn’t surprised James knew the details, but it didn’t explain why Lewis had never heard of the place before.  After thirty-odd years Lewis thought he’d seen the inside of every college and hall.  Very strange, indeed.  “Well, what have we got?”  
  
“Samantha Miller, age twenty-five, attacked in her room, which looks as though it’s been ripped apart.”  
  
Lewis looked around at the assembled vehicles.  “Laura not here yet?”  
  
“Miss Miller is alive; paramedics are with her now, though her injuries appear minor.”  
  
Lewis frowned.  “Why are we here then?  Don’t need CID for an assault.”  
  
“Miss Miller is a Rhodes Scholar and we're here to ensure...”  
  
“Bloody politics, is it?”  
  
“It would appear so.”  James blinked in confusion when Lewis snorted a laugh.  “Sir?”  
  
“Can you imagine Innocent's face when the call came in and she realised it was us at the top of the rotation?”  
  
***  
  
A young woman was being treated on the landing by the paramedics.  She was silent and shaking and her hair hung down over her face.  There were long, nasty-looking scratches striping her arms.   _They’re not cat scratches_ , Lewis thought.   _Suffered enough of those meself._   They didn’t look like fingernail marks either.  He felt James lean close to his shoulder. __  
  
“Miss Miller, sir,” James murmured.  
  
Lewis turned and narrowly avoided raising both eyebrows.  It was unlike James to state the bleeding obvious.   
  
James spoke briefly to the constable by the door before he and Lewis slipped under the crime scene tape into her room.  James hadn’t been exaggerating – James rarely did, but there was already an air about this case which lent itself to… embellishment.  The room hadn't simply been ransacked, it had been torn apart.  The curtains had been stripped from the window and every cushion and pillow looked shredded.  Wall panels were deeply scored.  Even the grate from the tiny fireplace had been removed violently, a trail of ash spread across the room to where the now twisted metal lay awkwardly in the corner.  A mangle of metal and plastic, which Lewis assumed had once been a laptop, and a few other things littered the desk.  Whoever had done this had done it swiftly and viciously.  It had also been done unexpectedly quietly if no-one had raised an alarm earlier.  
  
A strong odour registered as Lewis pivoted slowly.  
  
“Oh, God,” James gasped as he stepped further into the room.  “Is that–”  
  
“Wet dog?  Aye.”  Lewis swallowed hard.  How they hadn’t smelled it as soon as they entered he had no idea.  
  
“I was going to say dead dog.”  James coughed.  
  
“Smellin’ like that it might not be too far off it.”   _Dog.  Could they be dog scratches on the lass’s arm?_  Lewis wondered.  “Does Wentworth allow dogs and cats?”  
  
“Small caged birds, a limit of two per room and only if approval is sought in writing prior to taking up residence, but no mammals other than the human variety, in keeping with all other colleges and halls,” James advised helpfully.  
  
“But students have been known to attempt to smuggle pets in?”  
  
“I’d be surprised if someone hadn’t tried at some point.”  
  
Lewis cast a careful eye through the debris and destruction.  The room would have to be searched to remove any doubt; however, Lewis could see no sign of a dog in the room – no basket or bowls, no photographs, just the pungent, dank smell of a wet, possibly dead or dying, undoubtedly old, dog.  But where from and, more importantly, why?  
  
James ducked under the tape then held it up out of Lewis’s way so he could exit the room.  The paramedic was packing up, and advised Samantha Miller to get a tetanus shot as soon as possible.  She saw the two detectives and started to stand.  Lewis touched a hand to her shoulder and she sagged back onto the step with a small groan of relief.  Lewis sat beside her.  
  
“Can you tell us what happened?” he asked gently.  
  
She wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked slowly for a moment.  “I didn’t see... I’d been to see my supervisor...  I came back to my room and...”  She shuddered.  “I was grabbed.  There was a... a hand... over my mouth.  It had claws.  The smell...  I thought I was going to be sick.”  
  
 _Well, that answers where the smell came from._   Samantha had gone pale again.  Lewis pressed a hand to her shoulder.  “Take your time, lass.  We can do this later, if–”  
  
“No!  Now.  Please.”  She took a deep breath.  “He...  Damn it! I should know the voice.  I know I’ve heard it before, but I...”  She exhaled heavily.  “He told me to drop my thesis.  To leave Oxford.  That no good could come from my research.”  She looked up at Lewis then James.  She was grief-stricken.  “He destroyed all my work.   It took me twelve months to gather the information and it’s... shredded.”  
  
“But you have a back-up copy?” James asked gently.  
  
“Yes, but...” Samantha replied sadly.  “One was on the now smashed laptop – which also had all my scans and files of the original source material – I had another on a portable hard drive which is either amongst the shattered mess or stolen, and a third on my flash drive which that... asshole–”  She spat the word.  “–stole from my bag.  My supervisor has a partial copy, but none of the source material.”  She buried her face in her hands and heaved a single sob.  
  
“Miss Miller.”  James crouched down on the step.  “What was your thesis about?”  
  
She raised her head and sniffed loudly.  Taking a deep breath to settle herself, she replied, “Broadly, rural social dynamics and how World War Two affected them.  You know, the farming families who lost years of history and heritage and their place in the community because their sons were no longer around to take over the family farm, that sort of thing.”  
  
Lewis wasn’t surprised by James’s frown.  It wasn’t exactly the most controversial subject, unless...  Lewis wondered if she could have reopened old wounds, revived unwanted memories.  
  
He caught James’s eye and received the tiniest of nods.  They were in agreement.  Lewis rose to his feet, again gently touching the young woman’s shoulder.  “Thanks, Miss Miller; that’ll be all for now.  Do you have someone you can stay with until we've finished with your room?  Best if you're not by yourself for a few days.”  
  
She nodded quickly.  “I'll call my sister.  I’ve stayed at her rooms before.”  
  
“Very good.  But first you’ll go get that tetanus shot, won’t you?”  
  
She shivered again.  “Try and stop me.”  
  
Lewis waited while James helped Samantha to her feet before passing her to the waiting paramedic who guided her down the stairs.   
  
“Right, then, sergeant; any witnesses?”  
  
“In the Porter's lodge, sir.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

As they approached the Porter’s lodge, a tall, thin, immaculately dressed man was arguing with the constable patrolling the entry to the hall.  
  
“Excuse me,” the man yelled out, attempting to push the constable to one side.  “Are you in charge?”  
  
Lewis leant towards James and quietly asked, “Can you sort him out?”  
  
“My name is Mark Willoughby,” the man called in a tone which indicated he was used to commanding respect.  “I’m Head of House here at Wentworth and I demand to know why there are police at _my_ hall.”  
  
Lewis and James exchanged a glance and walked over together.  
  
“Mr Willoughby, we may need to speak to you at some stage,” James began.  “Were you here earlier this evening, sir?”  
  
“No.  I, ah, I’ve been... away most of the day.  Personal business.”  
  
“So you can’t tell us anything about what occurred.”  
  
Willoughby pressed his shoulders back.  “Well, no, but the presence of police vehicles and an ambulance leads me to assume a crime has been committed and someone has been injured.  I demand to know what’s going on!”  
  
“Mr Willoughby, as soon as we have a clearer picture of what’s taken place you’ll receive any necessary information.  For now, it would be in the best interests of all parties concerned if you let us do our job.”  
  
Willoughby hesitated.  “Is it serious?  Has someone been...?”  
  
“No-one’s died, if that’s what you’re asking.  Now, if you’ll let us get on, we’ll get this cleared up as quickly as we can.”  
  
Willoughby briefly looked as though he was going to raise another argument but then deflated.  “Of course.  My apologies if I was rude.”  
  
“Do you live at the hall, Mr Willoughby?” Lewis asked.  
  
“Not usually.  I do have rooms here but I also have a small cottage on the grounds by the river.”  
  
“We’ll have the hall reopened as soon as possible, though one of the stairs may be off-limits a bit longer.”  
  
“Right.  Thank you.”  Willoughby ducked his head and disappeared out onto the street.  
  
“Well, at least that’s one less person we have to locate, and we know where to find him if we need him,” said Lewis.  “Right, then.  Witnesses.”  
  
They paused at the door to the Porter’s lodge as a second paramedic left.  Inside the compact room there were two small settees wedged into a corner to the side of the unlit fireplace.  Seated on the settees were five young adults whom Lewis assumed were students of the hall.  One young woman had a bandaged arm, similar to Samantha’s.  On a small coffee table in front of the settees sat an untouched tea-tray and two plastic bags containing what appeared to be containers of Chinese takeaway.  The Porter was hovering to one side, making no attempt to hide the fact that whatever had happened had unsettled him.  
  
Lewis scanned the group and focussed on a very serious face hidden behind thick glasses and framed with dark auburn hair.  “I’m Detective Inspector Lewis, and this is Detective Sergeant Hathaway.  Could I have your name, please?”  
  
If she was surprised at being picked out, she hid it well.  
  
“Velma Dinkley, sir.”  
 __  
Ah, American.  Like Samantha.  “And everyone else is...?”  
  
She pointed at the occupants of the other settee.  “Fred Jones and Daphne Blake.”  She touched the hand of the injured woman.  “This is Chloe Black – we came to Oxford to visit Chloe; she’s doing her DPhil – and this is Shaggy Rogers.”  Lewis was amused by the way the lanky lad – Shaggy was quite an apt description – was eyeing the Chinese food.  Lewis had often seen a similar look in James’s eyes whenever a particularly interesting piece of evidence appeared.  
  
“And you’re all from the United States?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Lewis was distracted when James made a small, odd noise and ducked his head.  James’s eyes darted upwards as Lewis watched and he looked in the direction of James’s glance.  The red-headed lass, Daphne, was gazing at James, and the blonde man, Fred – _were they a couple?_ – was glaring, his attention switching between Daphne and James.  Lewis slowly closed his eyes and exhaled.  The last thing he wanted to have to deal with right now was overactive hormones and a jealous boyfriend.  Fortunately, James picked up on Lewis's mood; his mask fell into place and he straightened up, hands clasped behind his back.  The mood in the room perceptibly shifted.  Taken aback by the abrupt change, Daphne blinked rapidly and looked at her feet, while Shaggy reached for one of the bags only to have his hand slapped by Velma.  Lewis suppressed a weary sigh.  This was shaping up to be one of their more... unusual interviews.  
  
“Chloe, Miss Black.  What happened to your arm?”  
  
Chloe recounted the rapid events of the afternoon, and Lewis quietly took in the reactions of the other four.  There were nods and murmurs of agreement, though Fred seemed restless, and Shaggy’s attention was primarily on the food.  A flicker of movement caught Lewis’s eye.  He’d swear a mouse or rat had scooted under the couch near Shaggy’s feet.  
  
“Then we heard Samantha scream,” Chloe concluded.  
  
“How well do you know Samantha?”  
  
“Very well.  We’re both here to do our DPhil in History, and we have the same supervisor, Professor Penistone.”  
  
“So your theses have commonalities?”  James broke his silence.  
  
“A bit.  I’m writing the history of three sisters who all joined the British Army Nurse Corps in World War Two.  One was my grandmother,” she said proudly.  
  
“Did you ever work together?” Lewis prodded quietly.  Just because Chloe had also been injured didn’t mean she was automatically connected to what had happened to Samantha, but it was a possibility which had to be explored.  
  
She hesitated.  “Occasionally, we’d find something we thought could help the other’s research.  We’d meet in the hall’s library.”  
  
Lewis was certain she was hiding something.  Whether it was relevant or not he couldn’t say; however, in his experience, secrets were responsible for a lot of grief.  James was studying Chloe and the others carefully.  Lewis felt it was best not to push too hard at this stage.  They all looked shaken to differing degrees.  
  
Lewis wanted to talk to Velma next, as she’d been with Chloe when they were rushed, but he could see Fred was desperately trying not to butt in.  
  
“Miss Dinkley,” Lewis began.  Fred wriggled and grunted with impatience.  James attempted to cover a snort by coughing but wasn't very successful, earning another scowl from Fred.  Lewis rubbed his hand over his face to conceal his own smile.  It was awkwardly out of character for both of them, but Lewis couldn't shake the feeling there was something slightly unusual, almost comical, about the four young people in front of him.  
  
“Miss Dinkley, if you could give us your account, please?”  
  
Velma’s story dovetailed neatly with Chloe’s, until the very end when she mentioned the strange wet dog smell.  Chloe hadn’t mentioned any odours.  
  
“It was a werewolf,” Fred blurted out.  He looked eagerly at Chloe and Velma.  “It was tall, dark and furry with a long nose.  And it ran with a sort of lope, not like a man would run.  And there’s a full moon.”  
  
“Who ever heard of a werewolf wearing a coat?”  Velma fixed Fred with a penetrating stare.  
  
“A coat?” James asked.  
  
“If it wasn’t a coat it was a cape.  I could clearly see it swirl around its legs.  If it were fur it would have to be exceptionally long to move in the same way.”  
  
“It could have been its tail you saw,” Fred insisted.  
  
“Perhaps, but I don’t believe so.  My glasses didn’t fall off; I know what I saw.  It reminded me more of Mr Hyde.  Dark and dangerous and wild.”  
  
“Werewolf,” Fred muttered with conviction.  
  
“Mr Jones, why do you think it’s a werewolf?”  Lewis wondered if he’d regret the question.  
  
Fred simply stared at Velma and Chloe, silently challenging them.  Chloe and Velma looked at each other.  Chloe sighed and dropped back against the settee.  
  
“There’s a legend about a werewolf which returns to the Hall from time to time.  It supposedly first appeared after the first World War, and again in the early Forties.  Because of the timing of the events Samantha and I looked into it but we found very little.  There was a case in 1919 where a young serviceman, returning to Oxford after World War I, died of rabies, having been infected after receiving a dog bite in France shortly before his return.  He’d been a student at Wentworth prior to the war. Then there was a story from 1942 about a student, Richard Bold, who disappeared from Wentworth in the middle of the night.  He’d been heard screaming and when the door to his room was forced open he was nowhere to be found and his room was torn apart.  The furniture looked as though it had been shredded by giant claws and someone was recorded as saying the room smelled like a wolf’s den.  The ‘Werewolf of Wentworth Hall’ had struck again.”   
  
Lewis thought she told a good tale, and should probably be doing English or drama, but before he could comment, a scrabbling sound drew his attention and his eyes opened wide as the settee beneath Chloe, Velma, and Shaggy started to shake and rise off the floor at one end.  
  
“Raggy?”  Lewis stared as a Great Dane squeezed out from under the couch – a space he couldn't logically have fitted into.  “Rere-roof?”  
  
“Scooby Doo!  That’s where you were.”  Daphne scolded the big dog who ignored her.  
  
“It's okay, Scoob.”  Shaggy patted the large head.  “This is Louise and Haveaway.  They're detectives.  They'll get the werewolf.”  
  
“Rerectives?”  James froze as the dog thrust his snout under his jacket and sniffed around.  “Ro run?”  
  
“No gun?” Shaggy repeated  
  
“Ro run?”  The dog thrust its nose against James’s.  
  
“He left it in his other jacket,” Lewis replied quite seriously.  He suddenly felt an urgent need to get outside.  “I think that’s all for now.  Are you in Oxford for a bit?”  
  
“A bit of what?”  Fred blinked in puzzlement.  
  
Velma rolled her eyes.  “Yes,sir,” she answered Lewis.  “We’re staying at a bed and breakfast which allows dogs.  We’re there for the entire week.”  
  
“We may need to talk to you again, so if you could give your details to the constable...”  
  
Velma immediately rose to do just that, leaving the food unguarded.  Shaggy and Scooby not only quickly scooped up the bags, Lewis would have sworn on his career they ate the contents in a few mouthfuls.  
  
Lewis caught James’s eye and made a quick retreat to the door.  
  
***  
  
They silently observed the gang of five – six if they included the dog – as they left the lodge, under the watchful eyes of the Porter and the constable.   
  
Lewis felt slightly disoriented.   
  
James, who hadn’t said a word since they’d left the lodge, cleared his throat.  “So... the dog... did you... did he... talk?”  James grunted then shook his head vigorously.  If he’d worn glasses they probably would have gone flying.  “No.  Idiot, Hathaway,” he muttered.  “Dogs can’t actually speak.  They can make noises we might interpret–”  
  
“You’re havering, man.”  Lewis nudged him with an elbow.  “You need to get your hearing seen to.”  
  
“Me?”  James’s eyes widened in disbelief.  “Me?” he repeated.  “I’m not one who ans–”  
  
He fell silent at Lewis’s glare, which is what Lewis hoped would happen, though James was rarely so... compliant.  _He must be rattled._   The less said about talking dogs, the better.  
  
“I think we should call it a day.  No body, no need to push too far tonight.  I would like you to look into those young people in the morning though.  There’s something about them I can’t quite put my finger on.  Pint?”  
  
“God, yes, please.”  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Lewis drained his coffee mug and sorted through his notes for the third time.  
  
“James, are you sure you–”  
  
“Absolutely,” James replied testily.  “I’ve checked three times.  You’ve checked my notes yourself... twice.”  
  
“All right,” Lewis countered calmly.  “Keep your shirt on.  I apologise.”  
  
To the annoyance of both of them, Lewis had discovered neither he nor James had made a note of Samantha’s contact number or that of her sister.  The constable who’d been on duty outside her room was currently somewhere over the Atlantic starting his annual holiday, and Lewis had made the mistake of asking James more than once.  
  
“I’ll try the Porter again,” James offered, slightly mollified.   
  
“An’ I’ll get us both another cuppa.”  
  
James was holding a post-it and looking pleased with himself when Lewis returned to the office.  “Courtesy of the Porter at Wentworth.  Samantha’s number and her sister Ella’s.”  
  
“The Porter had both?”  
  
“It’s not unusual.  Ella’s Samantha’s emergency contact.”  
  
“Ta for that.”  He studied James.  “We all right?”  
  
It was a relief to see James’s shoulders slump slightly and a smile tug the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“An’ the background checks?”  
  
“Nearly done.”  
  
Lewis tried Samantha’s number but the call jumped straight to voicemail.  He called Samantha’s sister who told him Samantha had decided to go to London to stay with a family friend for a while.  “She left here at nine for the station. She said she didn’t feel safe in Oxford.”  
  
“You didn’t take her?”  
  
“No car.  She was going to catch a taxi.”  
  
“You saw her get into the taxi.”  
  
“No. I was in the shower when it arrived.  I heard Sam say goodbye.  Oh, God! Has something else happened?”  
  
“No, I’m sure everything’s fine.  I just had a few more questions about yesterday and her phone went to voicemail when I tried to call.”  
  
“That’s normal for Sam.  Her phone’s on silent most of the time.  She’s not overly attached to it like a lot of people.”  
  
“Fair enough.  Did she say anything to you about what happened?  Anything at all?”  There was a heavy pause.  “Miss Miller?”  
  
“Um, Sam said... she wished she had friends in town like Chloe’s and she hoped that Chloe would be safe.”  
  
 _Could be something or nothing_ , Lewis thought.  “Does she think Chloe could be in danger?”  
  
“I don’t... When I asked her what she meant, all she said was she and Chloe were close and shared everything, and if someone had a reason to attack her she was afraid they might use it as an excuse to go after Chloe.  You should really ask Sam, or even Chloe.  We might be sisters, but Sam and I aren’t very close.”  
  
It was an answer and no answer.  “I’ll do that.  Thank you, Miss Miller.”  
  
He left a message on Samantha’s voice mail and pondered what to do about Chloe.  
  
James stretched across the gap and lifted several papers from the printer.  
  
“Anything interesting on those kids?”  
  
“Yes, actually.  It seems they have quite a reputation as sleuths; call themselves Mystery Incorporated.  It might be worth our while to include them in the investigation in some capacity.”  
  
“What on earth for?  You don’t really want kids meddling about, do you?”  
  
James crossed the office in two strides and spread a series of newspaper articles across Lewis’s desk.  Five familiar faces beamed up from each page.  James huffed quietly.  “I suspect if we don't include them, we'll find them underfoot instead.  According to these reports, they're quite persistent if... unorthodox.  Personally I’d like to know where they are rather than trip over one or more of them somewhere.”  
  
“You’ve got a point there.  Doesn’t mean I like the idea, though.  Suppose I’d best talk to Innocent.  
  
Lewis brought James up to speed on Samantha, and her concerns for Chloe.  “Of course, that’s the sister’s story.  I want to hear Samantha’s version before I make up me mind, but in the meantime, could you find Chloe and bring her in to the station so we can see what she says.  Bring the friends if you have to.  If we’re going to include them, might as well keep them in the loop.”  
  



	5. Chapter 5

James spied Shaggy and Scooby lurking in the car park near Lewis’s car.  He crept up behind them with ease as they were eating pizza and whispering excitedly to each other.  An array of other food wrappers and drink containers were gathered in another empty pizza box.  James had seen a few outstanding appetites both at boarding school and Cambridge but these two were... quite remarkable.  
  
“And what about those pointy teeth, Scoob, ol’ buddy?  Did you see them?”  
  
“Ruh-huh.”  The dog nodded enthusiastically.   
  
“That Louise guy has to know more about werewolves in Oxford because he is one.”  
  
“Reah!  Roo-ease.”  
  
James opened his mouth to stop their wild speculation and was halted by the sight of Scooby Doo’s tongue curling around two large slices of pizza which he then proceeded to swallow whole.  A large piece of bocconcini began to slip from the dog’s mouth but was swiftly sucked back inside his mouth.  James felt ill.  He’d never seen so much cheese on a pizza.  He cleared his throat loudly which caused Shaggy to jump, sending his slice of pizza airborne.  Scooby deftly caught it by a corner with his teeth but a piece of the bocconcini splattered against James’s tie.  Hurriedly wiping it away James discovered to his horror it wasn’t cheese of any description; it was vanilla ice cream, and he had to swallow hard to stop himself gagging.  
  
“What are you doing?” James yelled as he tried and failed to erase the idea of a pepperoni and vanilla ice-cream pizza from his head.   
  
“What you’re supposed to be doing,” Shaggy yelled back.  Scooby had ducked behind Shaggy’s legs. “Tracking down the werewolf.”  
  
“Reah!”  Scooby peeked out.  “Rere-roof.”  
  
James took deep breath.  “Inspector Louise – Lewis.”  He hurriedly corrected himself.  “Is not a werewolf,” he stated through clenched teeth.  
  
“Oh, yeah?  How can you be so sure?  Are you around him all the time?”  
  
“Last night was a full moon.  He appeared perfectly in control of himself.  I would say that was proof enough, wouldn’t you?”  
  
“The sun hadn’t set.  He could have changed later,” Shaggy said stubbornly, though James could see he was beginning to waver.  
  
“Inspector Lewis is not a werewolf,” James repeated.  
  
Shaggy and Scooby still looked unconvinced.  “I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” James muttered under his breath.  He looked Scooby in the eyes.  “Did he smell like one?”  
  
“Uh… ruh-uh.”  He shook his head briskly.  
  
“Well then.”  James waited for their response.  
  
“Scooby never got to smell the werewolf properly,” Shaggy protested.  “He–”  
  
“Mr Rodgers.  Scooby Doo.”  James stretched to his full height and spoke quietly, forcing both Shaggy and Scooby to lean in to hear him.  “If you persist with this… line of enquiry… I will make it my mission to inform every food retailer in Oxford not to serve either of you.”  
  
Scooby whimpered and his eyes grew ridiculously large, as did Shaggy’s.  
  
Shaggy giggled nervously.  “We promise to behave, don’t we, Scoob?”  
  
“Ruh-huh.  Romise.”  
  
James found it impossible to stay angry.  He was beginning to understand why Lewis would let Monty get away with so much mischief.  “Thank you.  Look.  You might be able to help me and Inspector Lewis; do you know where I’d find Chloe right now?”  
  
“Velma’s convinced her to come and stay with us.  They’ve all gone in the Mystery Machine to get her stuff.”  
  
James assumed Shaggy was referring to the psychedelic van which had been parked near the Hall the night before.  He felt certain there weren’t too many vans in Oxford with ‘Mystery Machine’ emblazoned on the side.  
  
“Come with me.  I need all of you together.”  He led Shaggy and Scooby to his car.  
  
***  
  
They pulled up in front of the Hall stopping behind the illegally parked Mystery Machine.  The Porter was standing beside the van and Daphne and Fred were with him.  
  
James heard Fred tell the Porter, “They won’t be long...”  Whatever else he had planned to say was gone when he saw Daphne waggle her fingers at James in greeting and give him a coy smile.  James felt himself blush and immediately scolded himself.  _Get a grip, Hathaway._  
  
“I don’t care.”  The Porter jabbed a finger in Fred’s direction.  “You can’t park your van there.”  
  
“Oh, please.”  Daphne started to flirt with the Porter, completely ignoring both Fred and James.  “Chloe and Velma are getting some of Chloe’s things.  They won’t be very long.”  James tried to convey a wordless apology to Fred, but he wasn’t sure what he was apologising for.  _Christ, Hathaway,_ he murmured to himself, _you’re not bloody fifteen anymore._   Daphne continued, “You wouldn’t want them to have to carry everything–”  
  
“STOP HIM!”  It was Velma.  
  
James and Fred raced into the quad in time to see a dark clad figure disappear through an archway at the rear.  Velma and Chloe were standing at the bottom of Chloe’s stair.  Velma looked as though she wanted to give chase, but Chloe was clinging to her.  
  
James paused long enough to ensure neither woman was seriously injured and call for back-up before joining the chase behind Fred.  
  
He crested a small rise to see Fred tackle the suspect.  Fred wasn’t a small man, and James was stunned to see him propelled to the ground.  James winced at the heavy thud when Fred landed against old tree roots.  The suspect spotted James approaching and fled.  
  
“Fred!  Are you–”  
  
“I’ve got him.”  It was Daphne.  “Go!”  
  
James tore through a gap in the hedge where the other man had gone, swearing when his jacket snagged in the branches.  He shrugged it off as quickly as he could, cursing loudly when he heard a motorbike start.  He stumbled out onto a laneway to see a small bike disappear around a bend.  He called in the description.  With a bit of luck, his back-up might be able to intercept the bike.  Giving himself time to catch his breath, he carefully extricated his jacket and walked back to where he’d left Fred.  
  
Well.  She may have been a bit flirty, but it was evident where Daphne’s heart lay.  She was all over Fred who had turned an unflattering shade of beetroot red.   
  
“Any injuries?”  James offered his hand to help Fred up.  
  
“Only my pride and my clothes.  It was a werewolf.  I saw its face.  It was terrifying.  Smell my hands where I grabbed him.”  He thrust his palms out to James.  They were stained, though that could have been soil, and they reeked of old dog, just like Samantha’s room had.  
  
“Ugh!  I’ve called for back-up.  We should get back to the hall.  I’ll need to question Chloe and Velma.”  
  
James kept a discreet distance behind Fred and Daphne as they walked back arm in arm to the hall.  
  
Velma was alone, exactly where James had left her.  
  
“Where’s Chloe?”  
  
“She was scratched again so she went to see the Porter to get cleaned up – he has first aid training.  You guys have to see this.  Come on!”  She tugged at James’s arm and all but dragged him up the stairs.  
  
The curtains in Chloe’s room had been shredded and all bookshelves had been tipped onto the floor.  “We disturbed him.  He was probably going to destroy Chloe’s room as well.  Chloe’s normally with her supervisor today, but because of yesterday she rang and cancelled.  Whoever this is knew both Chloe and Samantha’s schedules.  It has to be someone in the college.”  
  
James hustled everyone down stairs.  “SOCO are going to have to go over the room thoroughly.  There’s a good chance our suspect’s made a mistake.  Fred, perhaps you should let the Porter check you over, to be on the safe side, and can you let Chloe know I need to talk to her.”  
  
While the others headed to the lodge, James waited at the foot of the stairs and called for a SOCO unit to attend.  In the distance he could hear the approaching sirens of his requested back up.  He sighed.  The bike and its rider would be long gone by now.  What could have been a student prank gone wrong was taking on a far more sinister tone.  
  
“SERGEANT HATHAWAY!”  
  
James bolted towards the lodge and Velma’s terrified cry.  
  
Crumpled inside the doorway was the unconscious body of the Porter.  Chloe was nowhere to be seen.  



	6. Chapter 6

Lewis arrived with the SOCO team.  
  
“What the hell happened?”  
  
James shook his head.  “The Porter’s still unconscious, and there’s no guarantee he’ll remember anything when he comes to.  Velma was waiting in the quad to secure the room and heard nothing.  We’re pulling CCTV from nearby businesses.”  
  
“What about the hall’s system?”  
  
“The only camera records the Porter’s lodge and the system was disabled at least ten minutes before the gang arrived to help Chloe move to the B&B.  Prior to that there was no suspicious activity: the postman dropped off the mail bag, students left for the day, no-one entered the hall grounds.”  
  
“Damn it!  Two missing girls.”  Lewis ran a hand roughly through his hair.  
  
“Two?”  
  
“Samantha Miller’s disappeared.  Her sister rang me in a state just before you called.  Samantha’s friends in London called Emma to see where she was when she didn’t get off the train as expected.  Now her mobile’s been switched off or the battery has gone flat.  Gurdip’s working with the phone company to try to find out which tower she last connected to.”  
  
James nodded.  “I think we’d also do well to explore the research angle.  Find out exactly what Samantha and Chloe might have uncovered.  All indications are that, whoever this is, they’re looking for something very specific and they believed Samantha, and now Chloe, has or had it.”  
  
“We haven’t got time, man.  The phone’s our best start for Samantha, and we know exactly where Chloe vanished.  We’ll have to rely on CCTV and legwork.”  
  
“We have the resources to do both.”  
  
“Eh?”  
  
“Velma could do it.  And she’d know how best to use the others’ skills.  I propose we let them in Chloe’s room once SOCO have finished, give full access to her notes, computer, everything.  Let _them_ search the room again.  There’s a good chance whatever was being looked for is still there.  If nothing else it might stop them getting in harm’s way.  We don’t want anyone else going missing.  This place will be crawling with police for a while and we can leave a couple of uniformed officers afterwards.”  
  
Lewis had heard wilder plans which had worked.  
  
“Okay.  But if anything happens to any one of them, even the dog...”  
  
“I’ll take full responsibility, sir.”  James strode over to where the five friends were huddled together.  
  
“That’s what I’m afraid of, James,” Lewis muttered.   _Daft sod already takes too much on himself._ For James’s peace of mind, and his own, Lewis sincerely hoped there would be no further incidents. __  
  
***  
  
“You want _us_ to search?  Jinkies!”  
  
“I think Samantha’s thesis is the key to this, but I believe Chloe knew more that she let on.  I need you to find that link.”  James mentally crossed everything he had.  It was a gamble, and he was relying entirely on gut feeling.  
  
“You can count on us!  Right, gang?”  
  
“Right on!”  Fred punched his fist into his palm.  
  
“Let’s do this.”  Daphne struck a pose.  
  
“Did anyone brings snacks?”  
  
“Shaggy!”  
  
“Reah, snacks.”  
  
“Oh, Scooby.”  
  
Velma shushed everyone.  “There’re two whole boxes of Scooby Snacks back at the bed and breakfast, and they’re all yours – but not until we’re done here.  Deal?”  
  
“Oh.  Okay.”  Shaggy sighed.  
  
“Roh-kay.”  Scooby pouted.  
  
Velma spun back towards Hathaway.  “We won’t let you down, sir.”  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Chloe’s laptop sat open on the desk, her draft thesis on the screen.  The books Chloe had been using had been gathered up and were stacked on one side of the desk.  Velma had also found scans of original documents and letter from the three sisters at the core of Chloe’s paper.  Velma had found nothing which could be considered even remotely controversial in Chloe’s notes.  She had been shocked when she found a hard copy of Samantha’s draft shoved to the back of the bookshelf.  It wasn’t the text itself which had been of interest – it seemed to be a very early draft – but the notes scribbled in the margins and blank pages.  Velma recognised Chloe’s hand and assumed the other was Samantha’s.  Velma had been puzzled by the seeming lack of correlation between the printed words and the notes.  There was a missing piece, perhaps more than one; a book or books, maybe more letters, which could tie these pieces together.  Whether it would help find Chloe and Samantha, Velma didn’t know, but she hoped.  
  
Now the gang stood in tight circle with their backs to each other in the middle of Chloe’s room and looked around slowly.  Every drawer, cupboard and shelf had been emptied, the covers had been stripped from the beds, and Shaggy had even been convinced to check inside the fireplace.  The scene suits they’d been given to wear had become hot and itchy, and they rustled annoyingly.  Even Scooby had been dressed, using the smallest suit available, and he startled himself every time he scratched.  Daphne had initially baulked at the bulky blue outfits until she’d seen the layer of black fingerprint powder which covered most of the surfaces.  
  
“Can’t we vacuum first?” she’d pleaded.  
  
“We don’t have time,” Velma insisted.  “We need to do this as quickly as possible.  It could help find Chloe and Samantha.”  
  
“How did Sergeant Hathaway convince the Porter to let Scooby in?” Fred had asked.  “I thought the ‘no dogs’ rule was unbreakable.”  
  
“He convinced him Scooby was a trained sniffer dog.”  
  
“Re?”  Scooby had looked perplexed.  
  
“Yes, you, Scooby.  You can find a Scooby Snack hidden anywhere in Shaggy’s room, even if he hasn’t done his laundry.  You have a great nose and now you need to help us.  Okay?”  
  
“Roh-kay.”  
  
They’d found nothing.  
  
Velma took a deep, determined breath.  “We’ve checked everything in plain sight.  Now it’s time to go deeper.  I bet the rooms in this building have secret panels and hiding places.  We just need to find them.”  
  
“How?”  Daphne frowned.  
  
“We check every square inch of wall and floor.”  
  
“How do you want to do this, Velma?”  Fred was watching her intently.  
  
“We’ll each take a wall.  Press and push everywhere.  Tap and listen to see if it sounds hollow.  We’ve done stuff like this before.”  
  
“Rand re?”  Scooby looked up.  
  
“You sniff everywhere, Scoob.  Anything you smell that doesn’t seem to belong, or smells like another person.”  
  
“Or a rere-roof?”  
  
“Yes, or a werewolf.”  
  
Scooby was immediately nose down, tail up.  He quickly became fixated on a wall panel to one side of the fire place, returning over and over again.  
  
 “Ranilla.”  He scratched at the panel. __  
  
“Vanilla?”  Velma crouched at his side and lightly touched the old wood.  “Did you say vanilla?”  
  
“Ruh-huh.”  He nodded rapidly, ears and jowls flapping noisily.  
  
“What is it, Velma?”  Fred stood behind her, casting a shadow against the fireplace.  
  
“Chloe told me she’d spilled a bottle of vanilla essence over her daypack.  Even though she’d washed it several times, it still smelled of vanilla inside, and most things she carried in it ended up vanilla-scented.”  
  
“Maybe she leant her pack against the wall and that’s what Scooby’s smelling,” Fred suggested.  
  
“Mmmm, vanilla,” murmured Shaggy.  “Ice cream, cake, cookies, cand–”  
  
“Shaggy!” Daphne scolded.  “This could be important.”  
  
“Sorry, Daph,” Shaggy giggled nervously.  “I’m just hungry.”  
  
“You’re always hungry, Shaggy.  Velma – what are you thinking?”  
  
Velma was shaking her head at Fred’s comment, and she began to press along the edges of the panel.  “Chloe always hung her pack on the back of the door.  Always,” she repeated emphatically.  “From elementary school right through college.”  From beneath her fingers came a soft click.  “AH, HA!”  
  
The panel popped backwards and slipped to one side.  
  
“Wow!”  Fred stepped closer.  
  
“Jinkies!”  
  
“Zoinks!”  
  
“Ruh?  Raggy?”  
  
“What is it exactly?”  
  
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Velma said decisively, reaching for the small tattered notebook which had been revealed by the sliding panel.  “Let’s see if this relates to anything in the books and papers Chloe has.”  



	8. Chapter 8

Another stack of books crashed to the floor.   
  
“Argh, I’m never going to get through this,” Velma cried.  Scooby curled into an even smaller ball on the single armchair, while behind her Velma could hear the others holding their breath.  
  
“Why don’t you move to the hall’s library?” Daphne asked in a quiet voice.  
  
Velma slapped her forehead.  “Jinkies!  Why didn’t I think of that?”  
  
“Come on.”  Fred grabbed a box and a couple of plastic bags.  “We’ll all help you, then we can come back here and tidy everything up for Chloe while you work in peace.”  
  
“Aww, you guys are the best.”  Velma knew she would lose precious minutes in the move, but it would be worth it.  
  
Together, the gang carried all the papers and Chloe’s laptop down to the hall’s library.  Daphne ran ahead and cleared the large central table and Scooby and Shaggy opened all the curtains and switched on all the lights.  
  
It was quiet in here.  The police weren’t letting anyone into the hall.  Velma had heard someone shouting that it was ‘his hall’.  Velma slowly scanned the notebook with a magnifying glass she’d found in the librarian’s drawer.  She turned yet another page.  She knew she was tantalisingly close.  Familiar names had appeared, and the notebook, with its pages yellowed and brittle with age, faded ink, and tiny spider scrawl was revealing its secrets.  Surely only one more piece was needed for the puzzle to fall into place.  Another page was turned and Velma grew cold.  
  
She whispered in stunned surprise.  “Jinkies.”  Velma scanned the library properly for the first time.  A police officer walking past a window drew her attention and beneath that window was exactly what she needed.  
  
Velma worked as fast at technology and the wifi connection in the library would let her.  Thankfully, Chloe’s laptop was set up to connect automatically.  When she had done what she needed to, she sent a text message to Sergeant Hathaway.   
  
Velma stood by the window and watched the police officer patrolling the quad.  As long as she could see her, Velma felt safe.  She checked her watch.  It had been less than five minutes.  Her phone beeped with an incoming message.  
  
//Finished Chloe’s room. All neat. Shaggy’s stomach is rumbling so loudly. We’re going out for food. Can we bring you anything? Do you want one of us to stay with you? F//  
  
//okay. Not hungry. I can see the police so I’m okay. Have fun. V//  
  
Before she could put the phone in her pocket, it rang.  
  
“Velma?  Sergeant Hathaway.  I’m heading to the hall now.  What do you have?”  
  
“I’d rather not say over the phone.  I feel like someone is listening.”  
  
“Are you by yourself?  You shouldn’t really–”  
  
“I can see one of your officers.  I feel safe enough.”  It wasn’t entirely true, but near enough.  “Please be quick.”  
  
“You’ve never driven in Oxford, have you?  I’ll be as quick as I can.”  
  
When Velma looked back out of the window, the quad was alarmingly empty.  There was a whiff of wet dog and everything went black.  
  



	9. Chapter 9

“Oh, God.”  
  
The sight before James made him feel ill.  She was his responsibility.  
  
He turned on the constable.  He was too shocked to manage much above a low growl.  “Why wasn’t there someone in here with her?”  
  
“She said she wanted to be left alone.  I stayed outside in the hallway and Constable Hunter was patrolling the quad; she peeked in through the windows whenever she went past.  We were keeping an eye on her, sir.”  
  
“Then how did this happen?”  
  
Velma was sitting in a chair being tended to by an all too familiar paramedic.  An angry red lump stood out starkly on her forehead.  
  
“A fire alarm went off in the dining hall.  I was away from the door for less than five minutes, just long enough to make sure Ms Dinkley wasn’t in any danger from the alarm.  The library door was open when I came back and I looked in... she was on the floor and the table was empty.  There was a lot of material on there, sir.  It would have been hard for one person to carry.”  
  
“And yet you didn’t see anyone coming or going?”  
  
“No, sir.  But... there was the smell.”  
  
The foul odour hadn’t escaped James’s notice.  It was the same as he and Lewis had experienced in Samantha’s room.  
  
How could one person remove a table full of books and not be seen?  
  
The paramedic gestured for James to enter the room.  He heard the medic advise Velma, “You may have mild concussion.  You’ll have to be watchful.  Any sudden tiredness, nausea, dizziness, get yourself to a doctor or A&E.”  
  
“Yes, sir.  I understand.”  
  
“I’ll be responsible for her.”  James crouched beside Velma’s chair.  
  
The medic rose.  “Very good, Sergeant Hathaway.  I’ll leave you to it.”  
  
James waited until it was himself and Velma.   
  
“How do you feel, Velma?”  
  
She looked at the table, as if seeing it for the first time, and her eyes boggled.  “How long was I out?”  
  
“As far as I can tell, about fifteen minutes.”  
  
“And he took everything?”  
  
“It would appear so.  I’m sorry, Velma, I should never have asked–  He?”  
  
“Then it still has to be in the library,” she said breathily.  
  
“What?  He who?  Where in the library?”  
  
“It took three of us to carry everything down.  He couldn’t have carried it all away, so it has to be hidden in here.”  
  
“Velma, you’re not making sense.”  
  
“Secret panels.  This building has secret panels.  We found one in Chloe’s room.  But that’s not important right now.  I know who it is and why, and I can prove it.  But not here.”  
  
“Your... everything’s missing.  How can you–?”  
  
Velma pointed to the scanner near the window and grinned triumphantly.  “I scanned and saved everything that mattered to my Dropbox.  I love wireless technology.”  
  
“But... can’t whoever’s got the laptop simply delete the files?”  
  
“Under normal circumstances, yes, but I’d logged out and shut down the laptop before …”  She touched the darkening bruise on her head gingerly.  “Before I sent you the message.  I needed to be sure everything was safe.  I had this horrible feeling someone was coming.  It was like someone was warning me.  So, unless they guess my password, they can’t get to the information.”  
  
“Ha!  Don’t ever go in for a life of crime, please, Velma.”  James rose slowly to his feet.  “Are you all right to walk?  I think we should get you to the safety of the station, and we’ll send a car to find your friends.”  
  
Velma looked sad.  “You haven’t found Chloe?”   
  
“Not yet.  We’re pursuing several leads.”  
  
“The gang are out looking too.  They’re hoping Scooby can find her.”  Velma hiccupped a small sob.  
  
“Come on.”  James held out his hand.  “The sooner I get you to the station, the better.”  


 


	10. Chapter 10

Lewis didn’t trust technology and all the chatter between James, Velma, and Gurdip about cloud storage wasn’t helping.  But if it meant the evidence which would solve this crime was safe from nefarious hands he’d accept it.  
  
The four of them were assembled in the newest incident room, complete with a smartboard and a laptop computer, where Velma sat.  Gurdip was beside her in case she needed assistance.  James and Lewis sat opposite them.  The smartboard flickered on.  Velma cleared her throat.  
  
“It’s my belief that Mark Willoughby, Head of House at Wentworth Hall is the... werewolf, and he’s the person who’s abducted Samantha and Chloe, and attacked me and stole or hid all my stuff.  Well, Chloe and Samantha’s stuff, really.  What I have here are scans of all the relevant documents and images, materials gathered by Chloe and Samantha, and probably what Willoughby was after when he tore Samantha’s room apart.  It would have taken them some time to piece everything together, so they’re the ones who should ultimately get the credit.  I’ve simply ordered and summarized what they found.”  
  
An image of Willoughby appeared on the board , along with a series of older photographs.  
  
“He did so in order to hide a secret which will affect his life and has the potential to change the future of Wentworth Hall.”  
  
She paused.   
  
“Go on, lass.  You’ve got our attention,” Lewis encouraged.  
  
Velma briefly explained what she and the gang had found, ending with the discovery of the secret panel.  “The notebook we found was a diary which had belonged to Richard Bold.”  
  
“Bold?”  Lewis’s brow furrowed.  “Didn’t Chloe mention a Bold on the day Samantha was attacked?”  
  
“Yes.  He was the student who disappeared and legend says he was the victim of a werewolf.”  Velma zoomed in on one image.  “This is Bold, and the man standing behind him is Jonas Willoughby, Mark Willoughby’s father.”  
  
James peered at the screen.  “Is it a damaged print or is...”  
  
“Jonas Willoughby was heavily scarred.  Except that isn’t Jonas Willoughby.  That’s what Richard Bold discovered.  That’s why he disappeared.  Samantha and Chloe discovered his diary and the secret and that put them in danger.  Mark Willoughby is not the rightful claimant to the position of Head of House, nor was his father before him.  I also believe Mark Willoughby is hiding the truth behind the disappearance of Richard Bold.  I think Bold was murdered at Wentworth Hall in 1942.”   
  
“Those are serious accusations, young lady.”  Lewis was wary of raising a shitstorm, as his Lyn would call it.  “Your proof is going to have to be rock solid.”  
  
Velma nodded briskly.  “Yes, sir.  Sergeant Hathaway, has your team found anything yet?”  
  
“James?” Lewis queried.  “What team?”  
  
“As the notebook was found behind a concealed opening, it is possible there are others in and around the hall.  A group of people removing items from the library would have been seen and or heard, and the only way a single person could remove the volume of items Miss Dinkley had was to hide them somewhere in the library, mostly likely behind a concealed opening.  There are three constables searching the library now for any such places or passages, and we’ve asked for assistance from a professor at Wolsey who’s written a couple of books on the subject.  They’re still looking.  If we’re lucky, the original material will be found.  If not, we have these electronic versions, though they could be argued against if the matter goes before a jury.  Unless we can get a confession.”  
  
Lewis thought for a moment.  “Go on, Miss Dinkley.  Give us the whole story, from the very beginning, and we’ll see where we go from there.”  
  
“Yes, sir!”  
  
Another image zoomed to fill the screen.  
  
“This is Jonas Willoughby and Frank Bettany, friends and fellow students at Beaufort College.  Jonas Willoughby’s father was Josiah Willoughby, who was Head of House at Wentworth.  Both Jonas and Frank were on the rowing eight in 1913.  If you look closely, you can see Frank is missing half of his little finger on the left hand.  Frank was a farmer’s son, who’d entered Oxford on a scholarship, and he’d lost the finger in an altercation with a bull.  Trust me, the finger tip is important later.”  
  
“Both men enlisted in 1914 and miraculously survived WWI with only minor physical injuries.  _Private_ Bettany had served under _Captain_ Willoughby, and had saved his life.  Both men were decorated, and both returned to Oxford where they completed their Law degrees.  They immediately went on to do their DPhils; Willoughby, because it was a condition if he was to succeed his father as Head of House, and Bettany because the elder Willoughby believed it would encourage his son to work harder if he had friendly competition.  Bettany was supported financially by Josiah Willoughby, Jonas’s father, much to his own father’s displeasure as the elder Bettany was soon forced to sell the farm when his son wouldn’t take over.   That’s how Samantha came across the name and connection.  The Bettany family was on her primary source list.”  
  
“Not through the diary?” Lewis asked.  
  
“No.  Chloe made a note that Samantha found the diary by accident when she tripped over the rug in her room and hit the bookshelf hard.  A piece of the side panel dislodged and the book fell out.  It didn’t take long after that for her to discover she was in the room Bold had disappeared from.  He must have hidden the book there.  She’d already connected Bettany with the Willoughbys by then and couldn’t believe what she’d found.”  
  
James leant forward on the table.  “What happened next?”  
  
“Well, to Josiah Willoughby’s horror, after completing his DPhil, instead of taking up an academic post, which he’d need if he was to become Head of House, Jonas followed Bettany to London and they went into practice together.  They shared a large townhouse, which also served as their offices, and both married.  It’s easy enough to find historical references to the legal firm of Willoughby and Bettany.”  
  
“I’m starting to see a pattern here,” Lewis murmured.  “This Willoughby chap’s always ahead of Bettany: Captain to his Private, which had more to do with their social rank than any ability, and his name first on the doorplate.  Am I showing some kind of snobbery if I think Bettany had been the more accomplished student?”  
  
“I... don’t know,” Velma replied.  “But you’re right.  Documents show Bettany was the more academically talented of the two.”  
  
“Fairly typical for the era, though,” James offered.  “Class before ability.  Many detractors will argue neither Oxford nor Cambridge have changed all that much.  Keep going, Velma.”  
  
“Where was... Ah.  When World War Two started, both wives were pregnant and were sent up to Oxford to stay with Josiah Willoughby to ensure the safety of them and their babies. Frank Marcus Bettany was born on April 7th 1940, and Jeremiah Jonas Willoughby a week later.  Sadly, Jeremiah died before he was a month old.  Today’s diagnosis would probably be cot death.  The men stayed in London and joined the Home Guard.  They were caught by a bomb during the first night of the Blitz.  It was reported that Bettany had died, while Willoughby had survived with severe burns.  However, I believe it was the other way around, and this is where the missing finger is important.  All of Willoughby’s injuries were to his head and chest.  Nowhere in the documents collected by Samantha or Chloe does it indicate that Willoughby lost any part of his hands.  In fact, one document relating to Willoughby’s care after the bombing refers to pre-existing injuries including _partial digit loss._   And yet...”  The image of Bold and Bettany filled the screen again.  “The Willoughby in this image is missing half a finger.”  
  
“Half a finger.  That’s the evidence against the man?”  Lewis knew what they presented to Innocent had to be as close to airtight as possible.  “Surely Willoughby’s father would recognise his own son?  His voice at the very least.”  
  
Velma shook her head sadly.  “Josiah Willoughby travelled to London to see the man he believed was his son.  Hospital records show he confirmed his son’s identity.  They also indicated Willoughby – Bettany – was not only heavily bandaged, he was also unable to speak due to damage to his throat.  Josiah probably wasn’t allowed too close to his son, and may never have seen his hands.  We don’t know.  We do know Josiah died from a stroke two days later.”  She opened up another image, this one of two young men in rowing gear, an oar in one hand, the other around each other’s shoulders.  “As you can see from this photograph, both men were startlingly physically similar.  This image is black and white, but as far as I can tell, they had similar coloring as well.  With old man Willoughby’s statement that he was his son, and nothing to contradict it, once Bettany realised what had happened it wouldn’t have been difficult for him to assume Willoughby’s identity, return to Oxford, and take up the reins of leadership at Wentworth Hall.”   
  
“The laws of the hall set down a minimum level of academic experience.  Neither Bettany nor Jonas Willoughby would have had that. Even if Willoughby had survived he wouldn’t have been eligible, so why didn’t the post go to another candidate?”  James was scowling.  Lewis knew James understood these matters better than Lewis did – growing up on an estate would do that – but he also knew James disliked nepotism as much, if not more, that Lewis did.  
  
Velma’s face lit up and she opened another image.  “That, Mr Hathaway, is recorded in the Hall’s own records.  Basically, concessions were made for the ‘ravages of war’ and the desire for continuity in the face of dramatic changes.”  She cleared her throat and read from the screen, one finger sliding underneath the words.  “Jonas Willoughby shall be appointed Head of House on the condition he also teaches for a period of not less than twenty years.”  
  
“Concessions after the war, after both wars, weren’t uncommon.  But...”  Lewis frowned.  “His wife – Willoughby’s wife must have known the man claiming to be her husband wasn’t.  She must have had questions.”  
  
“She may have,” Velma said soberly.  She tapped the touchpad.  “This article from the Oxford Mail reports Mrs Willoughby committed suicide within a week of his return; supposedly she was still in grief from the death of their son  and then unable to cope with the changes in her husband.  Bold’s diary, however, speculates she was either coerced into hanging herself or was murdered.  Another news article describes Jonas Willoughby’s marriage to the widow of his former partner, and the formal adoption of her son, twelve months after Mrs Willoughby’s death.”  
  
“So if you’re right, this Bettany, now Willoughby, marries his own... _widow..._ and adopts his own son.”  Lewis closed his eyes.  One day, he hoped, he and James would get a simple motive.  What was it about Oxford that attracted lives that twisted and intertwined like a mass of snakes?  And why did they always seem to end up on his desk?  “Does this Bold chap have anything to say about that in his diary?”  
  
“He believes the former Mrs Bettany knew the truth and willingly stayed silent.”  
  
“Anything about the... the werewolf.  I mean, he was supposedly attacked but was there any lead up to it?  Anything which may have fed those stories?”  
  
Velma nodded.   
  
“Bold boasts of confronting Jonas Willoughby with his suspicions.  He wanted money and started to blackmail Willoughby.  Bold wrote about deliberately calling him Bettany in front of Mrs Willoughby and the young Mark.  There’s a gap of several weeks, not missing pages though, just no entries.  When he does write again, the entries are... bizarre.  He talks of being watched, smelling wet dog in his room, finding things moved or missing, hearing growling, finding claw marks and scratches.  The last entry was made one week before he was reported missing.”  
  
“What do you think happened to Bold?”   
  
“I think he was murdered and his body hidden.  I haven’t looked myself, but according to their notes Samantha and Chloe looked for any trace of him after 1942.  They found nothing.”  
  
“Any other reason to suspect Willoughby to the exclusion of all others?”  Lewis knew he was pushing for weaknesses.  If he didn’t, he was certain Willoughby could afford a lawyer who would.  
  
“His ability to disappear and to hide things.  Mark Willoughby grew up on the grounds of the hall.  He played in these corridors and in the common rooms, including the library.  I’m sure I don’t have to tell you children are curious, Inspector Lewis.  If there’s a hiding place, they’ll find it.  The curious part of Wentworth Hall’s library is the lack of books relating to the building’s history.  No official or unofficial writings, no plans – nothing.  We don’t know what’s behind the walls.  What I did find out was that the original building which forms the core of the hall, and several of the outbuildings, were built in Tudor times, though they don’t look Tudor now.  It’s possible the family who lived there retained their Catholic faith.”  
  
“Priest holes.”  Lewis and James spoke together.  James beamed at Lewis.  
  
“No need to look so pleased, sergeant.  Aye, I know about priest holes.  Morse gave me more than one lecture on them.  And it fits with the secret panels business.”  
  
Lewis leant on the table.  There wasn’t enough here for him to get a search warrant, but he did have good reason to bring Willoughby in for questioning.  Lewis knew what questions he had for Mr Willoughby, Head of House.  The stumbling block they had was that he didn’t appear on CCTV in or around the college on the day of Samantha’s attack except to be seen leaving the grounds via the Porter’s lodge at 8.30am, and returning when Lewis and James first encountered him that same evening.  
  
“I think we should have a little chat with Mr Willoughby.  At least get his statement for the day Samantha was attacked and check out his alibi.”  
  
James’s phone beeped.  Lewis watched his expression change from flat to incredulous as he read the message, or it could have been an email; James played around with his tones so often Lewis had given up trying to work out which was which.  
  
“Well, man, what is it?”  
  
“They found an alcove hidden behind the bust of Walter Willoughby.  They’ve got a laptop, a notebook in a plastic sleeve, and they’ve filled two evidence boxes with books.  It appeared everything had been dumped.  It was in no order, and the laptop looks pretty banged up.  They’re bringing it all in now.”  
  
“Jinkies!”  Velma bounced in her seat and clapped her hands together.  
  
“There’s more.”  James gave his phone screen a gentle flick with his thumb.  “The back of the fireplace opened into a tunnel.  Someone had installed a modern door a few feet in and installed a passcode protected lock.  They’re trying to access it now.”  
  
Lewis recalled their conversation with Willoughby.  “James, Willoughby said he lived in cottage on the hall grounds.  How long can these priest holes, tunnels, be?”  
  
“The Passetto di Borgo at the Vatican is 800 metres but that’s an elevated passage.  You’re not thinking there’s a tunnel from the hall to the cottage?”  
  
“Don’t be daft; this isn’t a kiddie’s Saturday cartoon.  Could there be a passage from the library to, say, an outer wall or other exit which bypasses the Porter’s lodge and the CCTV?”  
  
“It’s not impossible.”  
  
“I think we should go and take a look for ourselves, don’t you?  Get someone to locate Willoughby; if we’re lucky he’s in or near the cottage.  Velma, we need to find your friends.  I want to be sure they’re not in any danger.  Any idea where they–”  
  
There was a knock and Julie Lockhart’s face appeared around the door.  “Sirs, they’ve located the group you were looking for and they’re bringing them in.”  
  
“Get uniform to take them to Wentworth Hall.” Lewis said.  We’re on our way there now.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Is there a problem?”  
  
“That’s where they are.  They turned up a few minutes ago and got quite upset when they were told Velma wasn’t there.  They wanted to take the dog inside to track her.”  Julie smiled.  
  
Lewis stood and lifted his jacket from the back of the chair.  “We may still need his nose yet.”  
  



	11. Chapter 11

The gang rushed Velma when she emerged from Lewis’s car, overjoyed to see her safe.  Lewis left them under James’s watchful eye.  
  
“Bring ‘em into the library when they’ve settled a bit – especially the dog.  Tail like that can do a lot of damage when it’s wagging that hard.”  
  
There was no sign of Willoughby at the hall, though James had received a call enroute informing him Willoughby’s phone had been traced him to within 500m of the hall.  A uniform team had checked out the cottage and there’d been no indication anyone was at home.  Without a warrant or probable cause their hands were tied, and Lewis had listened as James ordered the team to remove their vehicles from the scene but keep the property under surveillance.  They both knew, innocent or guilty, he’d have to turn up at some time.  
  
Inside the library SOCO had been busy.  Lewis was greeted with the news:  three sets of clear prints had been taken from the laptop.  They’d identified Velma’s and Chloe's and were running the third set against the remaining elimination prints they’d taken as well as the main database.  
  
“Anything else?”  
  
“The passageway will interest you.”  
  
Lewis had to duck to get into the fireplace and through the now unhidden opening.  A steel door had been propped open and wore a dusting of fingerprint powder.   
  
“Prints on here match the third set on the laptop, so hopefully we’re only dealing with one perpetrator.”  
  
Lewis followed the officer along the narrow tunnel.  Small halogen lamps had been hung by the SOCO team.  Small sconces at regular intervals along the wall indicated where candles, or perhaps oil lamps, would once have sat.  Tattered spider webs showed where someone had recently walked.  God knows where their occupants had scurried off to.  _Good thing James isn’t here._  
  
“This the state you found the passage in?”  
  
“Yes, sir.  All indications are someone had used the tunnel quite recently.”  
  
The smell of wet dog was in here too.  Lewis feared he would start to smell it in his sleep.  
  
“Shoe prints?”  
  
“Plenty, sir, going in both directions.  Looks like a man’s shoe, size nine.”  
  
The passage turned sharply and there was daylight, albeit filtered through the branches of a dense rhododendron bush.  
  
“Where are we exactly?”  
  
“In the corner of what is a private courtyard attached to the Head of House’s office.”  
  
“Can we go through?”  
  
“Watch your face.  These branches are surprisingly springy for such an old bush.”  
  
Emerging into sunlight, Lewis saw the French door to the offices was located adjacent to the large bush.  
  
“I’d say this has been here a while.  How old do you think?”  
  
“No idea, sir.  I’ve got two black thumbs.”  
  
“Rhododendrons are long-lived.  There’s one in China that’s supposed to be over 250 years old.”  
  
Lewis was surprised to see Hathaway emerge from the branches.  To the untrained eye he was quite relaxed, but Lewis knew him well and could see panic in James’s eyes as he attempted to casually brush off his jacket.  
  
“C’m’ere.  You’ll be all dirt and dust from being bent in that tunnel.”  Lewis quickly and firmly brushed down James’s back, strong, definite strokes so James could feel assured there would be nothing left on his back.  
  
“Much obliged,” James murmured.  Lewis could feel the tension leaving James.  
  
“Everyone in the library then, sergeant?”  
  
“Yes, sir.  I thought I’d continue this way and see how far I can get without being seen.”  
  
“I think I’ll come with you.  Don’t much fancy pushin’ me way back through that tangle of branches.”  
  
The SOCO gave a small wave and did that very thing.  “All right if you’re five foot nothing and built like a rake,” Lewis muttered.  James huffed a laugh and held the French door open.  
  
“After you.”  
  
Across the corridor from the office a door opened up onto a larger landscaped lawn.  The four metre stone wall which surrounded the hall grounds formed the boundary on one side, while the garden stretched down to the river and the modern mesh security fencing which kept dog-walkers off the property.  A pebbled path cut through a grove of trees roughly fifty metres from the hall.  
  
“The path to Willoughby’s cottage?” Lewis surmised.  James grunted his agreement.  
  
“This is interesting, sir.”  
  
James pointed to a small, padlocked door in the stone wall.  I don’t recall seeing any doors on the street side, do you?”  
  
“No.  And that padlock looks well tended.  No rust I can see, but it’s an old style lock.”  
  
“Curiouser and curiouser, don’t you think?”  
  
“No Lewis Carroll, please.  This case is odd enough already.”  
  
A noise from inside drew their attention.  Lewis turned in time to see a figure disappearing from the doorway.  
  
“Was that–”  
  
“Willoughby?  I think so.”  
  
They hurried inside and found Willoughby at his desk.  
  
“Gentlemen.”  He smiled benignly at them.  “Can I help you?”  
  
“Did you just come in through the main gate, Mr Willoughby?” Lewis asked.  Uniform would have advised himself or James immediately had that happened, so Willoughby’s answer now would be very telling.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
It was a blatant lie, not that Willoughby’s manner gave anything away.  
  
“So you would have walked past the library to get here?”  
  
“I... er... Of course.”  Willoughby’s smile was beginning to fade.  
  
“So you weren’t bothered by the police presence in _your_ hall again.”  
  
“Pol–”  Willoughby faltered.  
  
Lewis and James’s phones rang at the same instant and Willoughby bolted, roughly pushing James so he stumbled over a small footstool.  James was on his feet in a second.  
  
“Let him go!” Lewis ordered.  James held his ground.  Lewis answered his phone and gestured for James to do the same.  They’d find out where Willoughby had been hiding sooner or later.  
  
“Lewis.  Is that so?”  A satisfied smile crept across Lewis’s face.  
  
James was also grinning as he ended his call.  “Betsy – the dog trying to track Samantha – has found her scent.  She’s sitting beside a Mercedes in a car park in the street over, howling.  They ran the plates; it’s Willoughby’s.”  
  
Lewis nodded.  The pieces were falling into place.  “They’ve identified the third set of prints.”  
  
“Willoughby’s?”  
  
“Yep.  He was a bit of a student activist in his day.  Arrested at a nuclear protest for spitting on a police horse.  I think we’d better get back to the library.”  


Another call came on James’s phone as they reached the library doors.  
  
“Well?” Lewis asked.  
  
“Willoughby was spotted running into his cottage.  They’re maintaining a safe distance until advised otherwise.”  
  
“Good.  Right, you lot.”  He pointed to the gang.  “I want you to come with us.”  
  
***  
  
With a police sniper in place as a precaution, and fitted out with stab vests,Lewis and James approached Willoughby’s house.  Lewis stopped halfway down the path while James and members of the tactical team continued to the door.  Lewis could see Willoughby in an upstairs window, and he stayed in view until James began to hammer on the door.  
  
“We know you’re in there, Willoughby.  Why don’t you come out and talk to us?”  
  
The house was silent.  James hammered again.  Teams observing the other three sides of the property reported no movement.  
  
“Mr Willoughby,” James called out, “if you don’t come out, you’re forcing us to come in.”  
  
James turned and locked eyes with Lewis for a moment before giving the tactical officer beside him a nod.  Before Lewis could count to three the door yielded to force, bouncing back on its hinges.  Lewis moved forward to join James and they waited for the signal that it was safe to enter.  They were assailed with the smell of wet dog and dirt and a low growl came from the stairs.  Willoughby– Lewis presumed it was Willoughby – was wearing a heavily marked greatcoat.  The stains could have been anything, but Lewis feared they were blood.  Richard Bold’s blood.  Instead of a human face, Lewis found himself staring at an older style, very realistic Halloween wolf mask.  The ‘werewolf’ rushed at them, brandishing a small gardening fork high above his head and roaring.  Lewis and James were fixed to the spot by the sight.  In the next instant, Willoughby appeared to launch himself from halfway down the stair, his grip on the fork failing as he was carried forward over the banister.  The fork flew between the narrow gap between Lewis and James’s heads and dug deep into the door frame.  
  
“Christ!” Lewis heard James cry out, and didn’t know it if was an expletive or a prayer.  He felt tugging at his elbow and let himself go with it.  It was James.  Who else could it have been, he thought fondly, despite the chaos of the moment as the remainder of the tactical team appeared to subdue their suspect.  
  
“Cuff him and bag that,” James ordered, the steadiness of his voice belying the trembling of his body which Lewis could feel against his own  
  
***  
  
The gang were standing beside a second police car when Willoughby was eventually brought out in cuffs.  Along with the fork, the coat and mask had been bagged.  James saw the moment when the gang spotted it.  Velma and Daphne shivered, Fred and Shaggy stared.  When Scooby finally saw it, James allowed himself a half smile as Scooby moved behind Shaggy’s legs.  For such a big dog, he really was a softie, but, though James’s experiences with dogs had been limited, he believed Scooby would fight tooth and claw for his friends.  
  
“Argh!”  Willoughby lunged towards the gang, breaking the grip of one of his handlers.  “YOU!  I would have got away with it if it wasn’t for you meddling kids!”  
  
James and Lewis looked at each other in disbelief.  It was a bit like being in a Saturday afternoon melodrama.  
  
Everyone held their ground until Willoughby had been secured in the back of the police car.  
  
Velma rushed over to James.  “Do you know any more about Chloe and Samantha?  Do you have any idea where they are?”  
  
“We don’t believe they’re in the house, but a specialist search team will be going in with infra-red and... what is your dog doing?”  
  
Scooby was sniffing around frantically, moving toward a grove of trees and back to Shaggy, over and over.  Shaggy and Fred were too busy talking to a WPC to notice.  
  
“Scooby?” Velma called out.  “What’s the matter?”  
  
“Raggy?” Scooby whined, the worried sound grabbing Shaggy’s attention.  
  
“What is it, Scoob?  You hungry, buddy?”  
  
“Rawlrays.”  
  
“You wanna go get something – there’s that groovy pizza place we haven’t tried yet.”  
  
“Rater.”  Scooby tugged at Shaggy’s hand.  
  
“Later?  What’s wrong, little buddy?”  
  
“Crowee.”  
  
“Chloe?  Wait.  You know where she is?”  
  
“Ry rink so.  Raybe.  Ranilla.”

  
“Vanilla?” the gang chorused.  James had no idea what they were talking about.  
  
“Well, let’s go!”  
  
Nose to the ground, Scooby took off at a run, loping into the grove with the gang on his heels.  
  
“James? What’s going on?”  Lewis was frowning as two constables vanished into the grove as well.  
  
“It seems Scooby may have found something.”  
  
Lewis huffed a sigh.  Not much he could do about it now.  “Leave instructions to contact you or Julie with updates.  We’ve an interview to conduct.” __  
  



	12. Chapter 12

Willoughby sat defiantly in the interview room.  
  
“Made a right ruckus when they brought him in,” the custody sergeant had advised.  “Bellowing about did we know who he is – the usual entitled guff.”  
  
“We’ve got your prints on the laptop and books from the library, and off the hidden door.  It’s only a matter of time until we match blood and other evidence back to Samantha Miller and Chloe Black.  We also know you were born Frank Marcus Bettany.  So why don’t you tell us what happened?”  
  
Willoughby tipped his head back and gazed at the ceiling.   
  
“My father told me everything before he died.  He knew Bold had kept a diary but never found it.  He told me to keep looking for it.  One evening I overheard Samantha discussing Richard Bold and his diary with Chloe.  I was dumbfounded.  I knew I had to do something to stop her, to stop both of them.  I remembered how my father had silenced Bold and stopped his blackmail.  He terrorised Bold with the idea a werewolf was after him, stripped him of all credibility.  He became increasingly delusional and his talk of my father not being the rightful Head was regarded with pity, but given little credence.  He had no proof beyond his own ideas, and there was no Google then, no World Wide Web for him to seek proof.  But he still wouldn’t shut up and one day someone was going to take him seriously.  So my father...  I couldn’t go that far.”  
  
“How far, Mr Willoughby?” Lewis asked softly  
  
He stayed silent, staring at the table.  
  
“What did your father do?”  
  
Willoughby glanced up.  A sly grin flickered across his face.  “He decided old Josiah Willoughby could use a little company in the afterlife.”  
  
James slipped outside to make a call.  
  
“Sergeant Hathaway has left the room.  Where are Samantha and Chloe, Mr Willoughby?”  
  
“They’ll be safe.  For a while.  I can’t let them go now.  They know far too much.  There’s too much at stake.”  
  
“It’s over, Mr Willoughby.  We have the proof.  We know the truth and it will all be documented in court.”  
  
Willoughby shook his head and stared down at the table again.  James slipped back into the room, recording his return on tape.  Lewis tried a different approach.  “How did you get Samantha and Chloe?”  
  
The sly smile returned briefly.  “I watch these students.  I know them very, very well.  I intercepted Samantha leaving her sister’s college the following morning.  I told her you’d called by the hall and wanted to speak to her again.  I offered to take her.  Such a trusting girl, despite what happened.  As for Chloe, I knew she’d go to the Porter with her second injury.  Once I lost you...”  He looked at James with disdain.  “...it was a matter of minutes for me to double back to the gate.  I’d discarded the disguise, so Chloe, like Samantha, trusted me.  It was easy to incapacitate the Porter and steal Chloe away.”  
  
“When you doubled back, you went through the small door in the outer wall inside the grounds, didn’t you?” James asked.  
  
“What ever do you mean, sergeant?  There’s no outer door for me to exit through, is there?”  
  
“It’s a passage to the Porter’s lodge, isn’t it?  That’s how you evaded the CCTV.”  
  
“Well.”  Willoughby’s tone dripped with disgust.  “Aren’t you the clever one?  Yes, it does.  How did you figure it out?”  
  
“My college at Cambridge had a similar door.  It also led to the Porter’s lodge.  Historically, it was so the Porter could get to the privy in the shortest possible time.  Was there once a privy in that part of the garden?”  
  
Willoughby nodded sharply.  “Well, I suppose you know it all now.”  His voice was devoid of all emotion and expression fell blank.  
  
“Where are Chloe and Samantha, Mr Willoughby?”

  
They waited in silence for ten minutes.  Lewis nudged Hathaway who nodded.  
  
“Interview suspended at 5.25pm.”  
  
***  


  
Julie was outside the door when Lewis and James emerged.  
  
“Good news, sirs.   The girls have been found.  The Great Dane led them to a disused shed about half a kilometre from Willoughby’s house.  They were in a... pit... under the floorboards.  They’re dehydrated and hungry, but otherwise appeared unharmed.  They’ve been taken to the John Radcliffe for a check over.”  
  
“That is good news.  Thanks, Julie.  We’re not going to get anything more out of him I think.”  
  
“I’m surprised a man of his standing didn’t ask for a lawyer, sir.”  Julie looked puzzled.  
  
“Sometimes men of his ‘standing’ believe that’s all they need.  He belongs in a different era.”  
  
James’s phone vibrated.  
  
“Hathaway.” There was a lengthy pause as James listened.  “I’ll get a warrant organised immediately.”  James stepped into the viewing room and closed the door.  If it was what Lewis thought it was, he’d want a little privacy too.  
  
“Well?” Lewis asked when James emerged.  
  
“They used a portable x-ray on Josiah Willoughby’s crypt.  There’s definitely two skeletons within.  A warrant’s been granted to open the crypt.”  
  
“And all the chickens have come home to roost.”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
***  
  
Lewis hadn’t been entirely convinced when James had suggested the First Floor Restaurant on the Cowley Road, but it had turned out to be a success even if neither of them had eaten a bite at the all-you-can-eat buffet.  They were both far too fascinated watching Shaggy and Scooby challenge each other to one outrageous eating challenge after the other.  
  
Lewis leant across to James.  
  
“If I mention any of this to you tomorrow, convince me I must have watched too many cartoons with wee Jack?”  
  
“Only if you do the same for me.”  
  
“Agreed.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> During a Twitter conversation while writing my 2013 Spook Me, [_Unfinished Business_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1014946), I made a throwaway remark that I should have written Scooby Doo. That is where this story began.


End file.
